Murder of the Black Museum - The Dark Secrets Behind A Hundred Years of the Most Notorious Crimes in England. Gordon Honeycombe. Читать онлайн. Newlib. NEWLIB.NET

Автор: Gordon Honeycombe
Издательство: Ingram
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Жанр произведения: Биографии и Мемуары
Год издания: 0
isbn: 9781843584414
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As a boy he was, according to Edward, ‘hysterical and peculiar in his habits’ and known as ‘Mad Fred’. It seems he was supported by his parents for many years, only doing enough in the way of work to pay for his pleasures in Liverpool. It is said that when he was eighteen he became a steward on a liner and disappeared for several years. On his return he was, it seems, transformed, full of tales of adventure in the South African gold fields, and flamboyantly attired. From then on he kept disappearing overseas and reappearing, bejewelled anew, with a new suit and a new lady-friend by his side. Women, it seems, were fascinated by him. But he never exploited them financially, acquiring his money instead through theft, extortion and fraud. He was a plumber by trade.

      When his mother died in 1875, her youngest son (according to brother Edward):

      … was greatly distressed and very ill, and subsequently went on several voyages, visiting, amongst other places, Calcutta, where he had a severe attack of brain-fever … Afterwards his mind appeared to be affected [and] he did the most extraordinary things … He represented himself as being a person of distinction and would dress in peculiar ways. Sometimes he insisted on going out of doors in the morning wearing an evening dress coat [and] on other occasions he would go out as if dressed for a funeral, wearing deep mourning. [He was] subject to delusions, and frequently, after his mother’s death, declared that he had seen her vision, and that she had directed him to do certain things.

      His travels took him not only into Europe but to America, Australia, New Zealand and South Africa. At some point he married an English girl, of whom little is known except that she bore him four children, was abandoned in Australia (where she sang in the streets of Sydney to earn money) and again at Cape Town in South Africa when she managed to follow him there. He was imprisoned for bankruptcy in Australia in 1887 and was apparently also in prison in Johannesburg in 1888.

      In 1890, Frederick Deeming was forty-seven, a large, muscular, hard-faced, handsome man with fair hair, a ginger moustache and light-blue eyes. Early in 1890, he was in Antwerp, posing as Lord Dunn, and was accepted as such by the town’s smart society. But some piece of embezzlement or other misdemeanour soon occasioned his departure and he returned to his home territory on Merseyside.

      He took up residence at the Railway Hotel, Rainhill, a few miles south of St Helens and east of Liverpool. He informed people that he worked for the government and was an Inspector of Regiments. Such was his ostentatious style of living that the hotel proprietor ventured to suggest that his hotel was too humble, even inadequate to cater for such a guest. Deeming was gracious. He said he was in Rainhill to look for a modest but comfortable little house within convenient distance of Liverpool on behalf of a friend, Baron Brook. The proprietor was pleased to recommend a charming villa near Rainhill, which an acquaintance, Mrs Mather, wished to let furnished to a good tenant.

      Supplied with a letter of introduction, Deeming visited Mrs Mather that afternoon and viewed the property, Dinham Villa, which he pronounced to be entirely suitable and satisfactory. He was shown over the house by Mrs Mather’s twenty-six-year-old daughter, Emily, a small brown-haired woman, five feet tall and slightly built.

      Captivated by Deeming’s personality, persiflage and protestations, Mrs Mather let him move into the villa without paying any rent in advance. Believing her handsome tenant to be a single man, she was intrigued to hear that Baron Brook had insisted on being Deeming’s best man when he married. To everyone’s satisfaction, the courtship of Emily Mather proceeded apace.

      Before long, however, Deeming’s wooing of Miss Mather was interrupted by the unexpected arrival – by cab and with little luggage – of his incorrigible wife and her four children. She had found her way back to England, to his brothers’ families in Liverpool, and thence to Rainhill. She was determined to live with him as his wife.

      Miss Mather heard about the new arrivals and wondered who they were. Deeming teased her, mocking her casual curiosity and revealing at last that the woman was not his wife but his sister. Her husband, he said, had recently obtained a lucrative position abroad, and she had come to holiday briefly with her brother to discuss some private financial matters that had to be settled before she left England.

      From Deeming’s point of view, the sooner she went the better. Her presence and that of the children was inconvenient. When he quarrelled with her, the children cried – it was intolerable. People would soon find out who she really was and then his flourishing romance with Miss Mather would be ruined. As Mrs Deeming refused to leave him – and he was reluctant this time to abandon her yet again (he was planning to marry Miss Mather) something had to be done.

      After some thought, he went to Mrs Mather and said that, with her permission, he proposed to make one or two alterations to the villa, which would render the house more desirable to Baron Brook, who possessed a number of valuable carpets acquired in his travels. The floorboards at the villa were poorly laid, uneven, and let in the damp, and Deeming proposed at his own expense to cement the ground beneath the floorboards and then to re-lay them, so that they were flat and formed suitable surfaces for the Baron’s carpets. Mrs Mather agreed.

      Deeming then called on a local builder, buying a pickaxe and a large quantity of cement. He said his sister and her family had just left, and so, with the house to himself, he proposed to begin the alterations at once.

      Over the next few days he cemented the ground-floor rooms himself, with a local carpenter re-laying the floorboards. As soon as this was done he celebrated by giving a little party in the villa. There was dancing in the kitchen, light refreshments being served in other rooms. The culmination of the party was the announcement of the engagement of Miss Mather and Mr Deeming – he had proposed that night and she had accepted. The healths of the happy couple were drunk and the merry guests danced happily over the now even floors – under which, encased in cement, lay the bodies of Mrs Deeming and all four children.

      The Inspector of Regiments then suddenly announced that his duties required him to visit Australia. The wedding must therefore take place before he left. At the same time he revealed that Baron Brook had abandoned the idea of acquiring a house near Liverpool, and Mrs Mather was obliged to agree that it would be convenient if Deeming vacated the villa and stayed with her until he married her daughter. For some reason the marriage took place, on 22 September 1891, at Beverley in East Yorkshire.

      Weeks later the couple, now known as Mr and Mrs Williams, set sail on the Kaiser Wilhelm II. They arrived in Australia, at Melbourne, in December 1891, and rented a small furnished house in Andrew Street, Windsor. Within a few days, on or about 20 December, Emily Mather was cemented in under the dining-room hearth and Mr Williams had disappeared.

      The carelessness of a hurried repeat performance meant that, without the benefit of professional assistance, the floorboards were badly re-laid. The owner of the house was compelled to put right the poor workmanship, and in doing so uncovered part of a trussed and naked body. The police were sent for. They eventually dug out the remains of Miss Mather, who had been hit on the head six times before her throat was cut.

      Deeming was not traced until March 1892, by which time his real identity had been established. He was found in Western Australia, in Perth, where he had been making plans to marry yet again, in this case a certain Miss Rounsevell. Arrested by Detective Cawsey, Deeming was brought in the last week of March by train to Albany, a sea port on the state’s south coast. On the way to Albany the train stopped at York and a large, hostile crowd demonstrated at the railway station. When the train pulled out Deeming had a fit – whether real or faked is not clear – writhing and kicking for about an hour. At Albany, where Deeming and his captors embarked on a steamer for the 1,500-mile voyage to Melbourne, the prisoner shaved off his moustache. He subsequently denied that he had ever had one. Nonetheless, he was identified by several people when he was paraded before them in the yard of Melbourne jail.

      He appeared at Melbourne’s criminal court in the last week of April 1892, charged with the murder of Emily Mather. The judge was Mr Justice Hodges; the prosecutor was Mr Walsh; and the accused was defended by Mr Deakin. Meanwhile in England, Mrs Mather, informed of the method of her daughter’s burial, had been horribly reminded of the cementing of the floors of Dinham Villa. When they were dug up, the remains of Deeming’s wife and